


No Fear

by KimboKah



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alive Cole Anderson, Angst, Autism Spectrum, Crime, Drugs, Gen, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Connor, Police, Sumo is a good dog, Trauma, Yaaaay, and dogs, like the best, lots of dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:34:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27356587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimboKah/pseuds/KimboKah
Summary: Connor doesn't understand a whole lot about the world around him. People are complicated and unpredictable and he'd rather stick to the 350 dog breeds that he knows by heart. He likes dogs, ice cream and TV and he dislikes touch, going outside and disorder.Connor's relatively simple life gets shaken up by loss and tragedy, before he's being thrown into a world he never could have anticipated.Yeah, I gotta work on my summary skills.Leave a comment for a random dog fact, in line with this fic
Comments: 54
Kudos: 68





	1. Saint Bernard, Newfoundland, Samoyed, Akita

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, I pretty much spoil it in the first sentence.
> 
> Have fun reading, and leave me a comment, it helps out a ton.

Connor Newman turned six a week before his mother died. They’d gone to the playground near the bridge, just like every year. They’d gotten apple pie with whipped cream, just like every year. Mom had put six small birthday candles on it, and Connor had blown them out. He hadn’t made a wish. He couldn’t think of anything.

Connor got a new book, with lots of pictures of dogs. Seventy-eight, to be exact. He’d counted them. He’d let his eyes slide over the pictures, taking in every detail and committing it to memory. He knew a lot about dogs. He could tell the breed of every dog he saw outside. He also knew the country they originated from and their average lifespan. People usually walked away when he started telling them about their dog’s breed, but Connor didn’t mind. Mom always said he was a little different from other kids, but that she liked him that way. Connor would just nod. He didn’t know a lot of other kids. He’d never gone to school, like kids did on TV, but he figured that maybe, some day, he’d have to. He shivered at the thought.

A Saint Bernard had an average lifespan of about eight to ten years, he read as he flipped through the pages of his new book. He looked at the picture. It was a rather big dog. Mostly white. With patches of brown and black on its back and head. An excellent example of its breed, Connor concluded as he stared at its droopy eyes and drooling lips.

He sipped at his little packet of apple juice. He hated drinking from a straw, so he just sucked at the small hole in the packet, swinging his legs back and forth as he sat on the chair at the small table. Mom was pacing the room, talking to somebody on the phone. She seemed mad and Connor flinched each time she raised her voice. He stole a glance at the red smoke coming from the ash tray on the night stand next to the bed, but hurriedly returned his focus towards his book again.

Red Ice was very stinky, he concluded, not for the first time.

They’d lived in this motel room for quite some time now. Connor had thought he’d never get used to it, but thankfully, he had. He didn’t get to go outside very much, but Connor wasn’t upset about that. Outside could be scary, because all kinds of unexpected things could happen. It was just him and Mom in this room, and it had been like that for a long time.

“I said I would get that money next _week!_ ” Mom hissed, throwing the spoon that she had once used to stir her coffee towards the kitchen sink.

Connor startled and suppressed a whimper. He clutched at the sides of his book, fighting the urge to hug it to his chest and start rocking. Mom didn’t like it when he did that.

“Don’t you dare threaten me like that,” Mom grumbled, walking into the bathroom. Connor tried, but he couldn’t focus on Saint Bernards anymore. He groaned. “If you come in here and threaten me in front of my _child,_ you will never get that money.”

Connor let his book fall from the table and scowled at it when it landed on the carpet floor with a muffled thump. He wrapped his arms around himself and started moving back and forth, biting his bottom lip.

“I don’t care about that!” Mom yelled suddenly, then stomped back into the room, “Tell him that, no, tell him- Connor, stop that.”

Connor forced his body to still, feeling every muscle tense up. His heart was hammering in his ears and he squeezed his eyes closed.

“You can tell him to have patience,” Mom continued, her attention already back to her phone call, “I’m getting a big load from Todd’s supplier in two days. Should solve all the issues that we have.”

Connor pressed his forehead to the table’s cool surface and folded his arms over top of his head. Mom’s angry voice was cutting through his mind. The cartoon that had been playing on TV in the background was suddenly very loud and obnoxious. The smell of the Red Ice in the room seemed to intensify every second and it was making him feel sick. Connor swallowed against the nausea rising in his throat. A low, monotonous whine escaped him and he shook his head harshly, feeling his brow rub painfully against the table.

“Connor, for crying out loud,” Mom said and Connor felt her grab his upper arm. She had the phone squeezed between her cheek and her shoulder and for a moment, Connor wanted nothing more than to grab it and throw it away.

Instead, he continued his whine and kept shaking his head wildly.

“Hold on, give me five minutes,” Mom said into the phone, then straightened with a frown, “Well, I don’t care what he says. Tell him I need to take care of his _son_ for a second.”

She bent over to grab his fallen book from the floor. “Baby, can you look at me?”

Connor could hardly hear her over the noises from the street and the TV. He kept his gaze trained at the table, feeling like he would throw up if he moved his eyes even a little. Mom stood back up and turned the TV off.

“Better?”

Connor nodded cautiously. He felt dizzy, but the endless noise in his head seemed to have stilled somewhat. People were laughing outside. A car went by. Another car. Mom sighed deeply, then gave him his book. “I have to finish this call, do you understand?”

Connor shook his head. He didn’t.

Another sigh. “I know you don’t,” she said, her eyes drifting around the room for a second. “Just.. go inside the bathroom and read your book for a while, okay? I’ll call you when you can come back out.”

Connor nodded eagerly. It was a simple task. Connor liked simple tasks. He hopped off the chair, swayed just a little and rushed into the bathroom.

Newfoundlands were also big and drooly. They could weigh up to 150 pounds and lived up to ten years. There was no picture, but Connor knew from memory what they looked like. Their coats were long and flat and they were brown, black, gray or black and white. He looked over at the mirror. A black marker lay underneath it. He reached up and grabbed it, then proceeded to draw a picture of a Newfoundland next to the description in his book. There. Now there were Seventy-nine pictures in his book.

The Samoyed already had a picture. It was a very floofy dog and the book warned that it was a heavy shedder. Connor imagined what it would be like to have a pillow full of dog hair and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He’d wanted a dog ever since he was little, but Mom always said that a dog didn’t fit into their lives. Connor was always sad to hear it, but she was probably right.

The Japanese Akita was Connor’s favorite breed. They were calm and intelligent and seemed to have a certain dignity. Connor imagined they could do just about anything. He liked how they looked a little like a bear, even if he’d never seen one in real life. Not a bear, nor an Akita.

By the time Mom knocked on the door, Connor had read his book twice. He jumped off the closed lid toilet and ran over to the door. It was already past dinnertime. Instead of letting him run over to the table, Mom grabbed his shoulders and steered him over to the front door.

“Okay Connor, we’re going to have to leave.”

“Leave,” Connor repeated.

“Yes,” Mom confirmed, “Get your coat, your shoes and a few other things you need, and then we have to go.”

“No,” Connor decided, shaking his head resolutely and walking to the table, “We have dinner.”

Mom’s shoulders slumped and she seemed at a loss for words for a few seconds. “Connor, it’s important, okay? We are in a hurry.”

Connor studied her for a moment, “You are upset,” he concluded solemnly.

“Now, Connor,” she demanded, pointing to his shoes next to the doormat to get him to move.

Connor stayed where he was, “Where are we going?”

“I’ll figure that out when we’re in the car,” Mom mumbled, grabbing him by the shoulders again, “There’s a duffle bag in the other bedroom. You can take a few toys and a set of clean clothes. Then we have to go.”

“Are we coming back?”

Mom decided not to answer that. Connor started to shake as he walked into the other bedroom. He started putting his clothes into the bag, like Mom had said. He took his stuffed dog, which had been resting on the pillow, and put it on top of the clothes. He put his book in last. When he came back into the kitchen, Mom already had his coat in her hands. “Shoes,” She instructed impatiently, looking nervously out of the window.

By the time they made it out to the car, Connor was hugging himself and biting his bottom lip until he could taste blood. Lights flashed from the busy street up ahead and there were outside noises everywhere. He tried to shrink into his coat. The need to whimper from the fear building inside of him was getting stronger and stronger. Mom would be even more upset if he did that. But sometimes, he just couldn’t stop it. Sometimes, the noises and the flashes and the smells were just too much and all he wanted to do was scream to try and drown them out.

And now, he didn’t even know what they were going to do next, and that was the scariest thing he could imagine.

“Get in, Connor,” Mom said hurriedly and Connor climbed onto the backseat of the old car. Mom swung the door shut and got into the driver seat. She checked her mirrors a few times, then pulled out of the parking spot. Connor tried to remain as still as possible as they drove away. He knew his book and his stuffed dog were in the trunk and that made him feel just a little bit better.

After ten minutes, Mom pulled over to the side of an empty road, took a deep breath and stopped the engine. She sagged in relief, resting her head on her fingers on the steering wheel for a few moments before turning around to face Connor. “Look baby, I know you’re scared, and that this is different than normal.”

Connor nodded stiffly, wondering if they could go back now.

“It’s just.. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you,” Mom said, “They’re not going to get us.”

Connor nodded again, not understanding. He wanted to go home and have dinner. Then he’d watch some TV and then it would be time for bed. That was what was supposed to happen. Connor liked things that were supposed to happen. But he’d learn quickly that those things were never going to happen again.


	2. 2. Affenpincher, Afghan Hound, Airedale Terrier, Alaskan Malamute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welllll, this is getting disturbing.

If Connor trained his eyes hard enough to look only at his mother’s face; she looked like she was sleeping. Her eyes were closed and her dark hair was spread out like a crown around her head on the pillow.

She was very still though.

And the blood.

Oh, very much blood.

Her clothes were sticky with it. Her white dress had turned red very quickly, and Connor didn’t know a whole lot about it, but he knew blood was supposed to stay inside the body. He’d figured as much that one time he’d fallen on the curb and scraped his knee. It didn’t really hurt, and he’d examined the wound thoughtfully. A lady had asked if he needed a Band-Aid and he’d shrugged, because he didn’t know. The woman had smiled at him, pulling the Band-Aid out of her shoulder bag and pressing it to his knee. The bleeding stopped.

Connor wondered if maybe that was what he was supposed to do now. But he couldn’t move. They had told him as much. He’d moaned and screamed when they’d started hurting Mom, and then one of them had hit him on the side of his head with something hard and heavy, and he’d blacked out for a minute. Then he’d crawled into a corner of the room that was furthest away from the bed and he’d stayed there. He’d drawn his knees up to his chest and clutched his stuffed dog Doggo tightly as he pressed it to his face, smothering his whine as he rocked back and forth. The monotonous hum of his own voice was almost enough to silence Mom’s cries and shrieks. He’d stayed right there, watching as some of the men crawled on top of her, like ants. Their black suits were smeared with blood once they were done. They’d turned to Connor, telling him to stay still, or they would come back. Connor had nodded frantically, and so here he was.

He rubbed the side of his head gingerly. His face was caked with dried blood and it was itchy. The wound across his temple was pulsing with pain and he whimpered as he looked at his bloodied fingers. He wondered when Mom would wake up. They could go and find some Band-Aids to stop all the blood. He pulled Doggo away from his face, noting to his dismay that the toy was also covered in blood.

Well, everything was, honestly.

The bed, the carpet, Mom, Connor, Doggo, the door, the walls and even the window pane. It smelled awful and Connor hiccupped against the bile rising in his throat. He didn’t want to throw up. It would get even more smelly then. He bit into his lip, which was already torn by now, and looked at the door to the other bedroom. His book was in that room, but he wasn’t supposed to move. He sighed, closing his eyes and trying to recall every dog breed he knew in alphabetical order.

The Affenpincher was a small dog with a rather funny looking face. Its life expectancy was estimated around 14 years and it weighed only up to ten pounds. It had a shaggy coat that was usually black and some people called it the ‘monkey dog’.

The Afghan Hound was large and sleek and had very long hair. It could live up to 15 years and it came in lots of different colors. They were notably stubborn and people estimated that it was one of the oldest breeds of purebred dogs. They were very majestic to look at and they were very energetic and fast.

Connor took a deep breath, feeling his senses settle down a slight bit.

The Airedale Terrier had a life span of 11 to 14 years. They were rather smart and brave and could weigh up to seventy pounds. They liked to hunt and they had long faces covered in blood-

No.

No wait.

Connor shook his head. He’d made a mistake. Airedales didn’t come covered in blood. That was ridiculous. He looked up, his foot tapping impatiently against the carpet floor. He wished Mom would wake up already. He watched her face, but her eyes were still closed. There was no blood on her face. Only everywhere else, but not on her face. He’d remember that. She was whiter than usual, her lips almost the same color as the rest of her face. That was weird. But it wasn’t weird enough to warrant Connor to get up from his spot in the corner and investigate further. He wasn’t supposed to do that. If he stayed still with his knees to his chest and Doggo clutched in his hands, the men in black suits would not come back.

He just had to wait.

Mom would wake up, and they would probably go into the car and drive for a long time again. They would find another motel and then maybe they could find a way to wash Doggo. Connor hated washing Doggo, but he hated Doggo covered in blood even more.

Connor considered if he should take a nap right here to make time go faster, when he heard noises outside the door. He stiffened, pressing Doggo to his face again, despite the blood, and groaned out loud. Mom was not happy when he did that, but Mom was asleep and couldn’t hear him. The room had been utterly quiet for a while now, so Connor could hear every footstep outside.

They were coming back.

But he’d been good. He’d stayed right where he was. Why would they come back? Were they going to hurt him? Were they going to hit him on the head again? He didn’t want that. That hurt.

The Alaskan Malamute was a big dog that looked very much like a wolf. They were sometimes used as sled dogs and could run for miles and miles without getting tired. They liked to be in cold climates and they would never hurt anyone to make blood appear outside of their bodies.

Connor groaned louder, dropping Doggo and grabbing the sides of his head instead. The footsteps outside were getting more noticeable and Connor heard voices. He heard his heart pound in his head. His temple flared with pain and he wanted to bash his head against the wall to make everything stop. His short hair on the right side of his head had hardened with dried blood and a sudden knock on the door only made him groan even louder.

“This is Detroit Police, open the door.”

Connor was rocking violently now, squeezed between the wall and the wardrobe. He tried, very hard, honestly, to keep quiet, but his voice wasn’t obeying him anymore. It was getting louder and louder and he wondered if the people in black suits outside could hear him.

“Open the door!” the same man called again, and this time his knocking had turned to banging.

Connor shook his head wildly, making himself dizzy in the process. He choked and coughed, then resumed his whine.

“We’re going to come in one way or another, so you might as well open up!” another man yelled. Then their muffled voices seemed to discuss for a moment.

Connor glanced at the bed, wondering why Mom wouldn’t wake up from all the noise. He was about to call out to her when something slammed against the door from the outside. He shrieked, then whimpered and pressed himself further into the corner. The door rattled in its frame, but didn’t open. One man cursed outside of the door. A few seconds later a large part of the doorframe shattered and splintered on the side and the door slammed open. Connor grabbed his hair tightly and ducked his head between his knees. He watched through the gap between his legs as two pair of boots ran into the room.

“Oh Jesus,” one of them mumbled.

“Holy fuck,” the other one added.

Connor’s voice had stopped making noise and he was glad. Maybe if he stayed here, they wouldn’t see him. They weren’t dressed in black though. Their suits were blue, and when he glanced up, he saw they had caps on. He ducked back down and he tightened his arms around his legs when one pair of boots came closer.

“Ah no,” the man whined, “Gavin! There’s a kid.”

“Ah fuck,” the other man replied, also coming closer.

They’d discovered him. Panic rose as a hand reached out to him. He screamed and smacked it away. He wasn’t quite sure what they were doing here. The only thing he knew was that he wasn’t supposed to move until Mom woke up and told him what to do next.

“Easy kid, I wasn’t gonna hurt you,” the man called Gavin mumbled, but he stepped back.

“He’s fucking traumatized,” the other man said.

“Thanks Chris, I can see that,” Gavin replied, then turned to look at the bed. “Well, fuck. There goes our witness.”

“You sure it’s her?”

“Yeah,” Gavin sighed, crouching down to get a better look. “Damn, this is a mess. They probably figured out she was coming in for questioning tonight and got here before us. Weren’t subtle about it either.”

“Lieutenant Anderson ain’t gonna be happy about this,” Chris informed.

“Yeah, I know,” Gavin mumbled, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a pair of rubber gloves. He lifted the bed sheet a little, “Shit, that’s a lot of blood.”

“I’m gonna call it in,” Chris said.

“Yeah, get Anderson down here too.”

“What about the kid?”

“He’s fucking vicious,” Gavin snorted.

“That’s cause you’re rough and dimwitted,” Chris replied, shaking his head before he knelt down in front of Connor. “Hey bud, what’s your name?” Connor blinked, staying perfectly still. He watched every twinge in the man’s face intently. If these men belonged with the men in black suits, he wanted them to know he didn’t move.

“You don’t have a name?” Chris teased with an easy smile.

Connor’s eyes narrowed. Of course he had a name. But he didn’t take the bait.

“Alright,” the man conceded, “What do you say we get you out of here?”

Connor shook his head roughly, and when that didn’t work, he screamed again and thrashed his legs and arms.

Chris stumbled back in surprise.

“See? Told you,” Gavin commented dryly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor's got dog facts for days, y'all. Don't challenge him.
> 
> Comment what you think of the story so far and receive a random dog fact in return :)


	3. 3. The Boy in the Bloodied Pajamas

Lieutenant Hank Anderson slammed the door to his old piece of crap car shut. It creaked in protest, but didn’t fall back open like it sometimes did. Satisfied, Hank turned around, eying the rundown motel skeptically.

He flashed his badge needlessly to the two officers standing guard at the front door. They knew who he was. Red police tape surrounded the building and blue and red flashed against its walls. This was gonna be big.

Another Sunday night flushed down the drain.

“What do we have?” Hank asked, hunching his shoulders against the intensifying rain as he trudged towards the front door.

Ben Collins smartly kept himself dry under the porch’s overhang and watched Hank approach. “Vic’s name is Julie Newman; you know her.”

“Ah crap,” Hank groaned, “I warned them this would happen.”

It wasn’t the first time they’d underestimated Amanda Stern and her men. As soon as they’d been able to convince Newman to play witness, he’d hammered on the fact that Stern was going to counter. But, the lack of priority that plagued this case had once again shone through. Getting protection, or even a stake-out to the place was apparently impossible, due to ‘budget’ limitations. That Jeffrey just didn’t want to admit that he didn’t see the benefit in protecting a junkie in a motel room, just added insult to injury. Hank made a mental note to tell his superior exactly what he thought about that.

“I know right?” Ben mumbled, scrolling through his tablet, “It’s a damn mess in there. She was stabbed over twenty times. Blood’s everywhere. Might wanna stay outside.”

Hank scoffed, making his way over to the hallway already, “What would be the fun in that?”

Ben considered him for a second, calculating, “Did you know she had a son?”

Hank stopped in his tracks, turning around to look back at Collins, “A what?”

“A son,” Ben repeated, “Poor thing probably saw the whole thing.”

“How old?”

“Can’t say for sure. He’s unregistered. There’s no record of him anywhere. I’d say around five or six.”

Well goddamn. Julie Newman was determinably too young to have a five or six year old. But, considering the environment she came from, Hank figured that he shouldn’t be that surprised after all. “He up there?”

“Yeah, it’s a problem,” Ben sighed, “He hasn’t disturbed the scene, but he refuses to leave. Gavin says he goes, and I quote, ‘apeshit’ any time someone tries to approach him.”

Hank ran a hand over his face; from his short beard, through his unruly hair. “That’s about the expert level of social work I expect from Reed.”

Ben snorted knowingly. “Chris couldn’t get close either though. They’re leaving him be for now.”

That _was_ a problem. Chris Miller was amazing with kids. That man could get the gloomiest people to break a smile eventually. Seemed like Hank had his work cut out for him. “Thanks Ben.” He mumbled before taking the stairs up to the third floor. More police was stationed outside and Hank nodded at them in terms of greeting.

The room was a mess. Obvious signs of struggle already present in the kitchen. Chairs were turned over and the dinner plates with what looked like cheap microwave spaghetti, were shattered on the floor, contributing to the already gigantic mess. A sinking feeling of pity bundled in Hank’s stomach as he took note of the body on the bed. They could have prevented this, he thought as he inched closer to get a better look. Someone reached out to hand him a pair of gloves and he took them gratefully. Evidence markers were already set out and CSI was taking samples of the blood that had saturated the bed sheets.

“So when did this happen?” he asked to no one in particular.

“Oh, hours ago, judging by the blood,” Chris supplied, standing next to the bed as he wrote in his notebook with actual pen and paper. He looked up at Hank, then subtly tilted his head towards a corner of the room, opposite from where they were standing.

Hank raised one brow, but understood. He turned around slowly, and there he was. Wedged between the wall and the wardrobe. Hank’s eyes travelled from the boy’s oversized shoes, to the toy in his hand, to the top of head. His face was obscured by being pressed against his legs and the boy rocked himself back and forth rhythmically.

Hank’s heart broke slightly.

He nodded slowly at Chris, then made sure to approach the kid very carefully. He heard Chris suck in a breath in anticipation, but ignored him. He got down lower and lower until he was sitting on his knees in front of the kid. “Hey there.”

A shock travelled through the boy, like he’d drifted off for a moment. His face shot up and he screamed out, flailing his legs to make sure Hank kept his distance. Hank didn’t back off. He had experience with tantrums, even if this one was a bit on the extreme side. Chris had probably never gotten it this bad with his six month old. Yet. If only he truly realized what was in store.

“Woah, okay,” Hank said quietly, not backing down, but not making another move either. “No need to kick me, friend.”

The boy kept screaming, already hoarse from lashing out at Chris and Gavin, probably. Hank noticed that he wasn’t crying, which was odd. He was obviously exhausted though. Eventually, the kid’s scream diminished to a low groan, and he pressed his forehead against his knees again to resume his rocking.

His behavior was definitely different from any other kid Hank had encountered at a crime scene. But then again, the room was covered in blood; had apparently been that way for hours before Chris and Gavin stumbled upon it, and it was very likely that the boy had seen everything that had been done to his mother. So if he wanted to scream and thrash for a little while, that was acceptable.

What wasn’t acceptable, however, was the way the boy started to slam his already bloodied head against his knees. Hank reached out a hand, thought the better of it, and instead managed to take a half step back on his knees. The kid’s entire frame shook from exertion, but he stopped hurting himself once there was more distance between him and Hank.

Hank’s heart broke slightly more.

“My name is Hank,” Hank introduced himself softly, his voice a hushed whisper as to not startle the kid again, “I’m a police officer. Do you know what that is?”

The boy didn’t respond. He didn’t start screaming again either. Hank would take small victories. “In fact, we’re all police officers here. That means we’re gonna protect you. Is that okay?”

No answer. The kid gripped the toy in his hands a little tighter. It was worn and threaded in some places, and currently soaked with blood. It was hard to tell whether it was the mother’s blood, or the boy’s own at the moment. Hank eyed the toy for a second, deciding on a different tactic, “That a dog?” He asked. The boy stopped rocking at the word dog. 

“You like dogs?” Hank continued. The kid’s face reappeared as he looked up. He didn’t quite look Hank in the eyes, but Hank would take small victories. A large gash on the side of the boy’s brow had seemingly reopened and was bleeding, but the kid didn’t seem to care.

“You know, I have a dog,” Hank said, sitting back and folding his legs to get a bit more comfortable, “His name’s Sumo.”

The boy’s eyes widened slightly, transfixing on a spot on the ground right next to Hank. “Breed?” The kid whispered so quietly that Hank almost missed it.

Not the question he’d expected, but he’d take what he could get. “Saint Bernard. Big boy.”

The boy nodded, as if to confirm. “Saint Bernards can weigh up to 180 pounds if they’re male. They are a great family pet and have been known to save people’s lives in the snow for over three-hundred years.”

Surprised, Hank smiled. “Well, mine doesn’t do anything like that. Just hangs on the couch all night and pretends like he owns it. I bet you know a lot about dogs, huh?”

The boy nodded slightly.

“You have a name?”

A shrug.

“No name, huh?”

Another shrug.

“How old are you?”

No answer. Before the boy could return his face to his knees, Hank cleared his throat.

“You rather we keep talking about dogs, don’t you?”

The kid nodded.

“Yeah, I thought so,” Hank sighed, looking around for a moment. “Tell you what, you come with me outside, and I will tell you all about Sumo, how’s that sound?”

The boy frowned, biting his broken lip for a moment. He made a move to get up, before reconsidering. “I have to stay here,” he commented. Hank noticed for the first time how empty and monotonous his voice was.

“You don’t have to stay here, kid,” Hank assured him.

The boy shook his head frantically, “I have to stay here,” he repeated, “I have to wait.”

“Wait?” Hank questioned, getting up to his knees again, “Wait for what?”

The kid shrugged, “For Mom to wake up, I suppose,” he concluded. “She’s been sleeping for an awful long time. But I can wait.”

Hank’s heart broke the rest of the way.

“Buddy…” he whispered. He hadn’t considered that the kid might not entirely understand what was going on. Stupid. Giving his estimated age, it made sense that the boy didn’t have a clear concept of death yet. Dammit. He was not equipped to tell this kid the truth. Not here, at least. “I think she’ll understand if you went with me for a while.”

The boy looked thoroughly unconvinced, “If I move, they will come back.”

“Who?”

A shrug.

“Did they do that to you?” Hank pointed at the kid’s right temple. Blood was covering the entirety of the right side of his face. His short hair was messy and clotted to his head where the blood had soaked in.

Another shrug.

This wasn’t the best place to question the kid. “I promise no one is going to come for you when you go with me, okay?”

The boy threw him another skeptical look, but slowly unfurled his arms from around his legs. He scratched at the dried blood on his cheek and looked behind Hank at the bed. Hank could see loyalty and obedience fighting a raging battle inside the kid and for a moment he thought it was going to get violent again.

Then the boy stood up, wavered, slipped around Hank and walked purposefully towards the other bedroom.

“Hey, where are you going?” Hank called, but the kid was already inside the other room.

Twenty seconds later, the boy reemerged with a coat and a book and looked at Hank expectantly. “We can go,” he announced solemnly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Leave a comment! Get a random dog fact.


	4. 4. The Boy and the Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played around with some of the characters ages. Hank is now 46, and Cole is 9. I think it fits a little better.

And that is how Lieutenant Hank Anderson, 46, ended up telling the entire life history of his dog to the small boy sitting next to him on the passenger seat as he drove home. He’d decided earlier, when he was waiting outside for the paramedics being finished checking the kid over, that he’d just take the boy home for the night and take him into the precinct tomorrow.

“A moderate concussion,” one of the paramedics, Lizzy, had announced. “Wake him every two hours and make sure-”

“Yeah yeah,” Hank had waved her off, “I know how to deal with a concussion.”

Hell, if he had to count every concussion he’d had to deal with in his early days as a beat cop, it would probably take a while. He’d looked back at the kid, whose eyes were solely trained on him, now that they were outside. They had cleaned up his face, yet the blood was still sticky and flaky in his hair. It hadn’t been easy, either. The boy was absolutely appalled by the way people kept touching him, and Hank could see that it wouldn’t have taken many more seconds for the kid to explode in rage.

Now, he was quiet though, enthralled in the way Hank explained how it took four months to house-train Sumo. He had the stuffed dog (still hella dirty, but non-negotiable) clutched in his hands once again. The book he’d gone out of his way to get was lying on his lap.

_One hundred most popular dog breeds of the United States._

“You can read?” Hank asked, turning his gaze back to the dark road.

“Yes,” the boy answered curtly, like it was obvious. He was definitely impatient for Hank to continue Sumo’s life story.

Might be older than Ben had estimated, then, Hank mused. He glanced at the book again. Not a children’s book, but definitely playing into the kid’s obvious interest. Hank remembered Cole being obsessed with dinosaurs a few years ago, but never to this extent. Might be the trauma had something to do with it?

Hell if he knew.

“So what we ended up doing was just forcing him to go outside like every hour, not letting him back in until he’d done his business.” The boy watched him with big brown eyes. He hadn’t asked any questions. Had barely spoken three words since getting into the car.

“But yeah, he got the message pretty quick after that,” Hank concluded.

The kid nodded in understanding. Hank hadn’t seen him cry once since he’d plucked him out of the motel room. He seemed… robotic, almost.

Something akin to relief washed over Hank when his house came into view. He was quickly running out of Sumo stories. Oh well, it was probably better to let the kid experience the real thing. He’d called Rose ahead of time to tell her they had a guest for the night. He hadn’t gone into detail, but she seemed excited.

Cole… less so.

His son would just have to deal with it, Hank had decided. The young boy next to him had nowhere else to go at the moment. And it was about time that Cole realized that he wasn’t the center of the universe all the time.

Hank stopped the car on the small driveway leading up to the garage. The kid was sitting perfectly still; face expressionless and stuffed dog still tightly in his hands. Hank still didn’t even know his name.

“Alright, we’re here, kid.” He mumbled, opening his door.

“This is your house.” The kid had a way of making statements, instead of questions.

“That’s right,” Hank confirmed, walking around to open the passenger door. The boy sat stiffly in his seat. His back was straight and his shoulders drawn up. “You can come out, you know.”

The kid tilted his head, clearly considering staying right where he was. Hank wondered if the rest of the night was going to be a struggle like this. “Take your book and toy, and you can meet the actual Sumo inside.”

The boy’s eyes widened impossibly, like he hadn’t thought of that for a second. He scrambled to get out, standing on thin, shaking legs and looking up at Hank with hopeful eyes. “Right this way,” Hank said, softly pushing the kid forward.

The boy seemed unsure, taking small steps towards the house before stopping entirely. Hank walked around him to unlock the door. He opened it just enough to peek his head inside. To his relief, Rose was in the kitchen, holding on to Sumo’s collar. The dog barked once at the sight of his owner, and Hank heard a small gasp behind him.

“He with you?” Rose asked, having no trouble holding the large Saint Bernard back.

“Yeah, got him right here,” Hank confirmed, ignoring Cole’s grumpy stare from the couch in front of the TV. He watched Sumo instead. The dog was by no means aggressive, but having his excited energy cause a small kid with a concussion to be run over was the last thing Hank needed tonight. “Make sure he behaves,” he said, nodding at Sumo.

“I got him,” Rose reassured with a warm smile.

“Alright,” Hank replied, opening the door further. “Kid?”

The boy’s eyes went from him to the front door and back. Hank nodded at him and the kid bravely walked forward. Like Hank had expected, the boy’s focus was solely on the dog. Didn’t seem to notice anything else. Hank got to see him smile for the first time. The boy gained confidence with every step closer to Sumo. Rose was watching him approach with an endeared smile.

The kid stopped a few feet in front of the dog. “Hello Sumo,” he said formally, “My name is Connor.”

Good thing to have a dog, Hank thought. It had taken him probably a lot longer to discover the kid’s name if Sumo hadn’t been there. The big dog sniffed the boy’s face intently, then huffed and sat in such a way that Hank knew immediately what was up.

“He wants you to scratch his ears,” Hank informed Connor, who looked back at him with large eyes before stretching out his hand and putting it on top of Sumo’s head.

To his credit, Sumo didn’t completely jump up on him; just shoved against his side hard enough to make the boy lose his balance. Hank steadied him before he could fall. “Yeah, he can be a bit rough sometimes,” Hank cleared his throat.

“He’s a good dog,” Cole made sure to mention from his spot on the couch. His voice had a bit of a challenging tone to it. Hank was sure the nine-year old wouldn’t admit it, but he seemed curious, despite himself.

Connor seemed to not have heard either of them, completely mesmerized by the dog in front of him. Rose had let go of Sumo’s collar tentatively, and the dog immediately plopped down on the ground and turned to lie on his back. He turned to look at Connor with an expectant gaze, tongue lolling out of his mouth and legs up in the air. Connor crouched down next to him, patting the dog’s chest carefully.

Hank came up beside Rose and she snug an arm around him. “Let’s leave them to it for a minute,” she suggested softly.

Hank nodded with a smile, turning to grab a mug from the cupboard above him. By God, he needed coffee. It was only eight o’clock, but he already felt exhausted. Must be getting old. When he turned back around, Rose already came at him with a coffee pot. He smiled his thanks, sipping at the lifesaving liquid. “You’re a good boy, Sumo,” he mentioned to the dog, which was still lying calmly on his back, clearly in heaven. Connor continued to stroke the dog’s thick fur, oblivious to the rest of his surroundings.

Maybe, for now, that was okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some wholesome Sumo content, why don't we?
> 
> Leave a comment, get a random dog fact! :D


	5. 5. Appenzeller Sennen Dog, Chesapeake Bay Retriever, Saint Bernard

“No!” Connor shouted, but his voice made it a whisper instead. Stupid voice rarely did what he wanted.

“Gotta wash this stuff out of your hair, buddy,” Lieutenant Hank Anderson mumbled, continuing to run his fingers through Connor’s sticky hair. They were in a bathroom. Connor was sitting in the tub with only his underwear on and Lieutenant Hank Anderson was touching his head.

“No!” Connor insisted, a little louder. He hated being touched. Sometimes, even before today, the men in black suits would come, and Mom would tell Connor to do exactly what they said. And Connor did. But he still did not like it when they touched him. Only Mom could touch him. And then Connor still didn’t like it very much.

“Alright, alright,” Lieutenant Hank Anderson relented, sitting back on his haunches. “Not touching you. Only the water is touching you, see?”

Connor just kept his eyes on the soapy water that was coming up to his chest. He’d only gone into the house to see Saint Bernard Sumo, and now he was sitting in here, with Lieutenant Hank Anderson touching his head and soap in his ears. The fire monster that was hiding in his chest and sometimes made him scream and throw things, was starting to wake up. His head hurt like there was a hammer smashing him inside his skull and he just wished the world would go absolutely quiet right now.

Still, there was the water spraying from the showerhead, Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s breathing, and voices from people outside of the bathroom. Connor didn’t think he could stand it any longer. He wanted to go home.

Sometimes, the people in black suits came to take Connor away from the motel room and he had to go and eat ice cream with Elijah. Connor liked ice cream, but he didn’t like it enough to like Elijah. Elijah would talk and talk and Connor could hardly understand him. He was always glad when he was brought back to Mom and the motel room. Mom said it was necessary. That Elijah kept them safe. Connor didn’t know what that meant exactly, but if eating ice cream meant that he was safe, why couldn’t they do that with the three of them instead? Inside the motel room.

Maybe Lieutenant Hank Anderson had taken him away to eat ice cream with Elijah real soon. It was taking a while though. But Connor had faith that he would be brought back to the motel room eventually. Then Mom would be awake, Connor could watch TV and read his book and then go to sleep. And then nobody would wash his hair except for Mom.

“I have to eat ice cream?” Connor asked, finally looking up at Lieutenant Hank Anderson.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s eyebrows went up and he waved his hand, “Do you want to eat ice cream?”

That question was too difficult. Connor looked back at the soap bubbles surrounding his toes.

“I think we have some ice cream left,” Lieutenant Hank Anderson mumbled, looking around like it was hidden somewhere in the bathroom. Maybe it was. Connor didn’t know how they did things here. “You can have some after your bath. Let me see your fingers.”

Connor raised his hands out of the water and looked at his fingers. They were wrinkly, but clean. Connor showed them to Lieutenant Hank Anderson.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson nodded, “Looking handsome, kid,” he smiled, “Let’s get you out of the bathtub before you turn into an old wrinkly man.”

Connor wanted to point out that that was most likely impossible, but he didn’t. “Then we eat ice cream?” he asked instead.

“Sure,” Lieutenant Hank Anderson chuckled.

“And then I go home to Mom,” Connor stated.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s shoulders slumped and he let his hands fall limply into the water as he bowed his head. It took a few seconds for him to look back up. “Connor,” he said, in a tone that made Connor want to smack him. “You can’t go home, buddy.”

“When?” Connor demanded.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson sighed deeply and studied Connor’s face for a moment, making Connor’s skin crawl, “Do you know what happened to your Mom?”

“Yes,” Connor replied curtly. Of course he knew. He’d seen all of it. Mom needed Band-Aids. Then she would wake up. She would tell Connor to go brush his teeth and then she would ask him to tell her about the Appenzeller Sennen Dog, or the Chesapeake Bay Retriever, and then Connor would go to sleep.

“I don’t think you do, buddy,” Lieutenant Hank Anderson said softly.

The fire monster in Connor’s chest was opening its eyes and giving a low grumble. He folded his arms brusquely, wondering if he could make the water boil if he stared hard enough at it, “I go eat ice cream, and then I go home.”

Lieutenant Hank Anderson bit his lip and Connor saw his eyes were wet. He’d asked Mom once why her eyes were wet, and she’d said that people just cried sometimes. That made sense. Maybe Lieutenant Hank Anderson cried sometimes too.

“Your Mom died today, Connor.”

Connor quickly moved his eyes away from Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s face. He brought his hand up to scratch at the back of his head, going harder and harder until it hurt and he didn’t have to think anymore and the room was filled with blood and there was blood on him too and on Doggo and on Mom and on the knives of the men in black suits and Mom’s lips were the same color as her face and she wasn’t breathing and she wasn’t breathing and she wasn’t breathing-

Fire Monster lashed through his throat until he screamed; letting his legs kick at the water and his arms flail around him. Water and soap were getting in his nose and mouth and he coughed and screamed and Lieutenant Hank Anderson grabbed his forearms and Connor shook his head and clenched his eyes shut.

“No!” he screamed, trying to squirm away, but sliding over the bottom of the tub instead and feeling his head go underwater. It was quieter here. Lieutenant Hank Anderson was talking to him. But Lieutenant Hank Anderson was a liar. Still, he pulled Connor up by his elbow from under the water. Connor looked at him, narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth and screamed again.

The door flew open and Rose came in. She started questioning Lieutenant Hank Anderson. Connor kept screaming and his head hurt, and his head hurt and his head hurt-

And then he was out of the bathtub and sitting on the floor, leaning heavily against the cabinets. Rose was crouched in front of him and Lieutenant Hank Anderson was standing by the door. His face was whiter than normal and he kept running his fingers through his hair and over his face.

“Connor, look at me,” Rose said softly, snapping her fingers next to his head. Connor obeyed, for a second, but still. She had friendly eyes, but Connor didn’t like looking at eyes. It made him feel like there were thousands of little bugs crawling around in his stomach. He watched the tiled floor instead, letting his eyes search for patterns. It made the fire monster in his chest settle down again.

Rose brought a hand up to touch the wound on his temple, but Connor flinched away. She dropped her hand back down. “It’s okay,” she said. “We’re gonna take this nice and slow.”

Connor nodded, still looking at the floor. His head was pounding and he was so tired. “I want Mom,” he whispered.

“I know, honey,” Rose said gently.

“I want Mom,” Connor repeated. Maybe if he didn’t stop, they would let him go back.

Lieutenant Anderson had left the room, but came back with Saint Bernard Sumo. Saint Bernard Sumo went to sniff at the now empty bathtub first before coming over to Connor. Connor grabbed at the fur on his neck and Saint Bernard Sumo went and laid down beside him obediently.

“I know it’s all really difficult to understand right now,” Rose said, stroking Saint Bernard Sumo’s fur together with Connor. “Sumo helps, doesn’t he?”

Connor nodded, wincing when the hammer in his head punched him again. His eyes felt heavy and he leant his head on top of Saint Bernard Sumo’s. Sumo had put his head on Connor’s knee and was slobbering all over his legs. Connor had pajamas on again, although they weren’t his and he didn’t remember putting them on. They were too big and a little worn. They made him feel snuggly and warm, though, so he didn’t mind.

“I’m going to put a bandage on your head, is that alright?” Rose asked.

“Band-Aid?”

“ _Bandage,_ a little different, but it does the same thing,” she smiled. Connor nodded. He liked Band-Aids. They made the blood stop. He didn’t like it when Rose touched him, but he got a bandage in return, so it was okay. 

“Do we still have some kids Tylenol?” Rose asked Lieutenant Hank Anderson, who had resumed his place standing by the door. Now he walked to the mirror and opened the cabinet it was on.

“Oh, more than enough,” he said, picking out a small bottle and handing it to Rose.

They made Connor eat some of the pills inside and after a few minutes, the hammer in his head stopped smashing him. He sighed deeply, feeling his eyes slip shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks Hank, very smooth
> 
> leave a comment for a random dog fact. Helps a lot :)


	6. 6. I Don't Know, Doggo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for a wholesome chapter

Dad’s face screwed up slightly as he picked the boy up from the bathroom floor. “He’s out cold,” he whispered to Rose, who nodded in confirmation. Cole was still standing just outside the doorway. He’d jumped a few feet into the air when he’d suddenly heard the kid start screaming. It had sounded like he was possessed or something. Definitely not your typical little-kid-tantrum that Cole would hear on the playground every few minutes. Slightly scared, he’d followed Rose to the bathroom, where he could hear water splashing and Dad cursing.

The kid’s screaming had stopped as suddenly as it began. The boy passed out or something and Dad had lifted the boy out of the tub carefully and told Cole to go get one of his old PJs that he’d grown out of, waving him out of the bathroom. Cole did. Reluctantly, but in too much of a shock to protest.

Why’d the kid scream like that? Only crazy people screamed like that, Cole had though, shaking his head as he retrieved some dark red pajamas with a faded picture of a fire truck that he hadn’t worn in years.

When they’d put it on the boy, he woke up. Only to fall back asleep a few minutes later. Dad picked him up and carried him out of the bathroom and into Cole’s room. Into…

Wait a minute!

“What are you doing?” Cole hissed as Dad flipped on the lights with his elbow.

Dad ignored him completely as he lay the kid down on the bed opposite from Cole’s. He spread out one of the folded blankets from the foot end of the bed over the boy; then turned around and gave Cole a stern look. He gestured with his hand for Cole to get out of the room and then walked out himself, turning off the lights and closing the door.

“That kid has been through hell tonight,” He said, and Cole could see he was holding back anger, so he backed off.

“But he screams!”

Dad threw his hands in the air as he walked towards the kitchen and got a beer from the fridge, “It’s just for one night, Cole!” he said, turning to face him, “Am I gonna get this bitching of yours anytime someone comes over?”

That was just unfair! Nobody ever asked Cole anything. He just had to deal with it. He swirled around and stomped towards the couch and plopped down on it angrily, folding his arms with a well-practiced pout.

He and Dad had been just fine for a long time. Just the two of them. Sure, Dad worked a lot and so Cole had to spend a lot of time with old Marge, his babysitter from down the street, but they made it work. Then Rose had come into Dad’s life. And she was just obnoxiously nice, so Cole couldn’t hate her. Her son, Adam, was a lot older than Cole, and he rarely ever came over. Still, Dad had gone out of his way to buy a bed for him and put it in Cole’s room. In the one and a half year that Dad and Rose had been dating, Adam had stayed over maybe twice. Adam was cool though. He was busy working on the farm where they lived, on the edge of the city. Cole had been there a few times. The house was a lot bigger than Dad’s and they had goats and ducks. Sumo also loved it there.

The big dog in question came over and spread himself over on the couch beside Cole, leaving very little room to maneuver. “Traitor,” Cole whispered. He knew his dog was pretty much friendly with everyone, but he’d never seen him plop down and demand belly rubs quite as fast as he had with Connor. Then, to add insult to injury, the dog had gone over to the bathroom with Dad and had snuggled up beside the kid, like he’d known him for years.

“I seem to recall that it is past your bedtime as well, young man,” Dad called from where he sat at the kitchen table, sipping his beer, “Tomorrow’s school.”

“Excuse me,” Cole said, “I seem to recall there’s a little kid in my room.”

“Ain’t in your bed though, is he?”

Cole turned to face him. Dad looked tired. Why couldn’t people get killed during work hours? Dad had been looking tired ever since he got transferred to homicide. Cole was about to reply, when Rose came back from checking on the kid.

“Still fast asleep,” she said softly. “His head stopped bleeding.”

“Gotta check on him in two hours for the concussion,” Dad remembered.

“What the hell happened to him, Hank?” Rose sighed, sitting down next to him. Cole was also curious, but he knew Dad would never go into detail like that as long as Cole was still in the room.

“Nothing good, I suppose,” he said therefore.

“He’s exhausted, hurt, traumatized and clearly on the spectrum,” Rose summed up.

“Spectrum?”

“Autism, Hank,” Rose nodded.

“Ah crap,” Dad mumbled, staring at the door to Cole’s room, “That makes sense, I guess. When I told him Sumo is a Saint Bernard he started churning out breed facts just like that,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Damn impressive, but also a little creepy.”

“That sums it up pretty well.”

“Are you sure?”

“My younger brother was very similar at that age,” Rose nodded with a reminiscent smile.

“I am not equipped to handle this at all,” Dad sighed, finishing his beer.

“No,” Rose stated, “Luckily for you, I am.”

“Lucky indeed,” Dad said, giving her a kiss.

Cole rolled his eyes, sticking his tongue out at Sumo to show him his disgust. Sumo was already dead asleep, as usual.

“It’s just for tonight, Hank,” Rose said, “Although Lord have mercy on him from here on out.”

“That’s for sure,” Dad mumbled, “If you think I cannot see you roll your eyes at me, Cole, you’re wrong. It’s very loud,” he addressed his son.

“Sorry, I was afraid you couldn’t hear me otherwise,” Cole replied, just as smoothly.

“You,” Dad pointed at him, “Take your smart-ass to the bathroom and brush your teeth. Then it’s up to bed for you.”

Cole sighed, carefully peeling Sumo’s head off his lap and standing up. “If he starts screaming in the middle of the night, it’s your fault,” he informed his father on the way to the bathroom.

“Don’t I know it.”

Cole was dreaming of a basketball game. He was suddenly six foot seven and very fast. Detroit Gears fans were all cheering very loudly for him as he made shot after shot. Somebody lifted him up in the air in celebration; they needed three more points and then-

A low, constant whine lured Cole out of his dream. He opened his eyes, squinting in the dark. The noise came from the bed across from his and it took him some time to remember there was someone in it.

“Shh, shut up,” he hissed in its general direction. Nothing happened, not even a change in pitch.

“For God’s sake,” Cole mumbled to himself, before removing the double blanket from over his feet and swinging his legs over the edge of his bed. “Shut up!” he insisted, a little louder.

Connor just continued. This was ridiculous. Cole sighed, contemplating if he really wanted to touch the cold floor with his feet. Well, he already got this far. He jumped out of bed and crept over to the other one. He could barely make out the boy’s form in the dark, but he could tell he was shaking. Maybe he’d had a bad dream? Cole’s annoyance softened just slightly. The sound coming from the boy was somewhere between a groan and a whimper. Cole bit his lip in thought, then reached out a hand to touch the kid’s shoulder. Connor’s reaction was instantaneous. He shot up and gasped, his eyes opened wide, but not seeing anything in the darkness.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” Cole hushed, pulling his hand back. He expected the boy to start screaming again any second. Instead Connor ducked his head back down between his legs and squeezed his arms around them tightly. The white bandage on his head was the only thing clearly distinguishable in the dark.

Suddenly, Cole felt awful about himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, moving to sit on the edge of the bed next to the boy and checking if that was okay.

Connor started groaning again, his arms shaking and his voice sounded wet.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Cole asked, not unkindly.

Connor rocked himself back and forth slowly. Maybe that was helping. Cole didn’t know.

“Bad dreams suck,” Cole nodded to himself.

The kid’s stuffed toy had fallen off the bed, Cole noticed when he turned on the small lamp on the night stand. The thing was super dirty and stinky, but Cole still bent down to pick it up. Unceremoniously, he pushed it against Connor’s shaky arms and waited for the boy to look up. Connor’s brown eyes focused on the stuffed dog first, then wandered towards Cole. He took the toy from Cole’s hand and wedged it in between his cheek and his knee. “I want Mom,” he whispered to the dog.

“Don’t you have a dad?” Cole wanted to know.

The boy shook his head, “I want Mom,” he insisted.

“I only have a dad,” Cole informed him, like he was offering.

“Lieutenant Hank Anderson,” Connor confirmed.

“I just call him Dad,” Cole smiled.

“Should I call him Dad?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Connor had stopped shaking and rocking and now just looked sad.

“Did you have a bad dream?” Cole repeated his question from earlier. He knew next to nothing about the situation Connor had been involved in. But, judging by the state of the stuffed dog and the way Dad had covered the boy up in his own big leather jacket the moment he entered the house, he figured it was something pretty horrifying.

Connor shrugged, “I don’t know, Doggo.”

“My name is Cole,” Cole let him know.

“I don’t know, Cole.”

“This one time, I dreamt there was like this big dragon monster after me. And I like dragons, you know, but this one had really creepy eyes and it was really fast,” Cole rattled, “And I woke up just before it was going to eat me. Did you dream something like that?”

Connor shook his head, “Dragons don’t exist, Cole.”

“Well, I know that.”

“There were knives,” was all that Connor offered. Cole felt a shiver run down his spine, looking at the stuffed dog and the large stain that looked like dried, old blood.

“That must be scary,” he said.

“I don’t know, Cole.”

“You don’t know when you’re scared?”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Cole sat back, pulling his legs up to sit beside Connor on the bed, “How old are you?”

“Six years and eight days,” Connor replied.

“You’re a little weird.”

“Mom says weird is good,” Connor mumbled. “I want Mom,” he added dejectedly.

“I could go get Sumo,” Cole offered. He’d done so for himself more times than he could count. Wait until Dad was asleep, then sneak to the living room, take Sumo and go back to his bed with Sumo spread out over his legs. It was the best feeling in the world and if he had to make sure to wake up before Dad on those days to get the dog back to the living room, that was totally worth it.

Connor looked up at him with large brown eyes and Cole nodded. “I’ll go get Sumo.”

The cold from the ground rose up through his bare feet when he walked out of the room, but he’d done this so many times that he didn’t care. Sumo was loudly snoring in his bed, one of his legs kicking slightly every once in a while. It was the state Cole found him in most of the time at night. “Sumo!” he hissed.

Sumo immediately rolled back onto his belly and yawned widely. He stretched as he slowly stepped out of his bed. They’d done this often enough for the dog to know exactly where he was supposed to go. He went over to Cole, sniffed him lazily for a second, then made his way towards the bedroom. Cole smiled, “Good boy, Sumo.”

The big dog pushed the door open with his nose, leaving Cole to trot after him.

“Saint Bernard Sumo!” Connor squeaked when he saw the dog.

“Shh,” Cole hushed him, maneuvering himself around Sumo, who’d decided to just stand still in the doorway for a while, “Dad can’t know, okay? I’ll be trouble.”

“Okay,” Connor nodded, patting the large area of unoccupied bed underneath his feet.

Sumo looked up at Cole, and Cole was glad that he at least seemed to ask permission. “Okay, go on,” he nodded at his dog and Sumo jumped up on Connor’s bed in one fluid motion. He circled around once, then sagged down with a huff and rested his head on Connor’s ankle.

“Good boy, Sumo,” Cole repeated, walking back to his own bed.

“Yes, good boy Sumo,” Connor parroted, stroking the dog’s head intently.

Cole sighed, crawling back into his bed and flipping the warm blankets back over his body. Okay, so maybe having this kid sleep over for one night wasn’t the end of the world. He closed his eyes.

“Good boy Sumo.”

“Connor, shut up.”

“Okay, Sumo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well well well, Cole went from whiny little bitch to awesome big brother in less than 2500 words, whoo


	7. 7. The Boy and His Story

It was nine o’clock in the morning and the precinct was already buzzing with business. Hank preferred a slower start-up, but that rarely ever happened. Still, he took a long sip of his coffee while pointing Connor through folding gates that separated the waiting room from the bullpen. Connor was very easy when it came to little tasks. Thank God for that, because it was too goddamn early to get resistance in the form of stubbornness. The fact that Hank had gotten very little sleep because he had to get up to wake the kid every two hours; didn’t help.

Around maybe the third time he’d gone into the bedroom, Sumo had suddenly been there, sprawled out protectively over the small boy. Hank had instantly figured that this must have been his son’s work. He had noticed it pretty often when he woke up in the middle of the night to pee and Sumo wasn’t in his bed in the living room. He intended to say something about it, but pretty much always forgot the next morning. He’d probably be okay with it, if Sumo didn’t drool so god damn much.

“Hank!” Hank closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, “My office!”

“That’s the boss,” Hank mentioned to Connor, who was busy taking in the swarming energy of the bullpen. “We should go before that little vein on his forehead pops.”

Connor nodded seriously, already turning around and on his way to the glass office in the middle of the bullpen. Hank followed after him quickly, hoping nobody would overlook him and run into him in their hurry. Connor hopped up the stairs with his short legs and made a move to open the door, but Hank was quicker.

“Wait,” he said pointedly, “We knock first.”

Connor looked away like he’d done the worst crime in history, but Hank chose to ignore it. He knocked, then opened the door to Jeffrey’s office. Jeff was sitting on the corner of his desk, instead of actually behind it. “Hank.”

“Don’t wear it out,” Hank muttered, letting himself fall into the chair by the door. Connor was next to him, standing up so straight it looked uncomfortable. He had his hands clasped behind his back and it seemed like he thought that he wasn’t allowed to even blink. 

“You’ve been officially assigned the Newman case,” Fowler continued, “This the kid?”

“Connor,” Hank corrected.

“Hello Connor,” Fowler said with a stiff smile.

“Hello Captain Jeffrey Fowler,” Connor greeted back monotonously.

Hank wanted to take a picture of the surprise on Jeff’s face at that. Connor had presumably just read the name tag that was showing off on the captain’s desk, but it was still pretty funny. Jeff’s eyes shot from the boy to Hank and back. “Why don’t you sit down, son?”

“Because you have not given me permission,” Connor replied, as a means of an answer.

“He just did, Connor,” Hank smiled at him and Connor climbed onto the chair next to him.

“Right,” Fowler mumbled, seemingly shaking himself out of it. “As I said, you’ve been assigned the case-”

“I was already assigned the case,” Hank pointed out, “You have not been very helpful so far, Jeff.”

“My sole job is not to be helpful for you, Hank,” Fowler had the audacity to reply.

Hank shot out of his chair, “Helpful? I asked for protection for this kid’s _mom,_ and you couldn’t even spare what? Like two guards?”

“Two guards would have been killed by Stern’s men in a second,” Fowler countered, “I was preventing a bloodbath.”

“You clearly have not seen the crime scene, then,” Hank growled lowly. “Did you know they were gonna come, or is this just you trying to save face?”

“I’m willing to admit mistakes were made,” Jeffrey said, raising a hand to shut Hank’s reply down, “But that’s not gonna help in the further progression of this case.”

“Since when do we trade lives, Jeff?” Hank said softly, “She may not have been innocent, but she didn’t deserve to die.”

Fowler’s eyes wandered over to Connor, who was still sitting stiffly in his chair. “CPS is waiting at the front door to meet the kid. They already found a couple willing to foster.” The idea of Connor ending up in foster care was almost nauseating, but Hank didn’t say anything as he turned around.

“Dismissed,” Jeffrey made sure to call after him before Hank let the glass door close behind him and made his way down the steps. He noticed Connor following him seconds after.

He and Fowler had been friends once. Partners even. That Red Ice task force wouldn’t have been half the success without the two of them. Then Hank had made lieutenant and Jeff captain and Jeff had gotten caught up in all the bureaucratic and political bullshit that came with the job. And yeah, Hank knew that Jeffrey couldn’t just do whatever he wanted, but hadn’t they once chosen this job to fight crime, and, where possible, prevent it?

Hank marched over to his own desk in long, brusque steps. He noticed Connor running a little to be able to keep up with him. He should slow down for the kid, but right now, he was pissed off. With a heavy sigh, he sank down in his chair, put his elbows on the desk and let his hands rub over his face and through his hair. Connor came up silently next to him, admiring the small bonsai tree sitting on the desk. It had been a gift from a grateful victim Hank had helped a while ago. And honestly, he’d tried to keep it maintained, but looking at its sorry state now, he hadn’t done a very good job. Connor touched it curiously, and Hank remembered the people waiting at the front door. He told Lora to let them in and send them to his desk, then turned to look at Connor.

The boy looked less pale today and the wound on his brow had not started bleeding again since last night. He was a good looking kid, not very typical considering the environment he’d come from. His dark hair was kept short, with only a rogue lock falling over his forehead, even when nobody took the time to brush it. His large brown eyes were studying the tree intently and Hank figured there was more intelligence than he could fathom behind them. The boy’s fingers glided over the branches of the tree. He looked healthy, even if he was on the thin side. The fascination shining in his eyes was a testament to his innocence and Hank once again wished that things could have turned out differently. That Julie Newman could have just given a witness report and then gone back and change her life around for the better. Even before Hank knew she had a son, it was clear that Julie wanted nothing more than to get out of the life she’d lost herself in.

“Lieutenant Anderson?” Hank was shaken from his thoughts by a short woman with a clipboard. Behind her was a young looking couple that had clasped each other’s hands nervously.

“Yes,” Hank said, turning his chair around to face them.

“Ah, my name is Kara Williams,” the woman with the clipboard says, reaching out a hand, “I am with Children Protection Services.”

“Hank Anderson,” Hank replied, shaking her hand. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Connor had not let his attention drift away from the tree for even a second.

“Very good to meet you,” Kara smiles, then steps aside to introduce the couple behind her, “This are Shannon and Tyler Oaks, they have been with the program for nearly two months now.”

Jesus. Two months. And they wanted to assign them to someone like Connor. CPS were either having a real shortage of experienced foster parents, or they knew absolutely nothing about the case. Hank suspected it was a mix of both. He raised one eyebrow skeptically. “Right,” he said, “Well, this is Connor. Connor?”

Connor slowly turned to face him, then looked at the people standing behind him. His face remained expressionless as he went to stand next to Hank. The young woman introduced as Shannon knelt down, “Hello Connor,” she smiled, touching his arm. Connor flinched back immediately, and Hank could have warned them about it, but… you know. Shocked, Shannon stood back up, staring at the little kid.

“Yeah, he doesn’t like the touching,” Hank drawled.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Shannon said, looking nervously from Kara, to Connor, to Hank.

“He’ll be fine,” Hank said, turning to Connor, “You’ll be fine?”

“Yes.”

“He’ll be fine,” Hank repeated. Shannon gave an awkward smile, but took a step back nevertheless. Tyler took her hand and squeezed it.

“Right,” Hank said, “Well, we found Connor at a crime scene yesterday, and he does not seem to have any living relative we could call, so I presume that’s why they called CPS?” Hank looked at Kara, who nodded in confirmation, “Alright, wonderful. We’re not exactly sure how old he is, because he wasn’t ever registered in City records, and getting the information out of Connor himself has proven a little difficult. Oh, we suspect he’s on the spectrum,” he added.

Kara’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Tyler looked confused, “Spectrum?”

“Autism, Tyler,” Hank nodded.

“How do you know?”

Hank watched them for a moment, before clearing his throat as he leant against his desk, “Connor? What’s the life expectancy of a Maltese?”

“Twelve to fifteen years,” Connor droned on auto-pilot, “They weigh no more than seven pounds and they need a lot of grooming to-”

“Thank you, Connor.” Hank said, still staring at the young, inexperienced couple before him. They seemed absolutely stunned. “Alright, if the three of you would be so kind to wait here, I have to take Connor in for questioning. It shouldn’t take longer than half an hour, I think. After that, he’s free to go and you can take him. There’s coffee and donuts in the break room, help yourselves.”

Kara nodded slowly before leading the wide eyed couple towards said break room. Hank shook his head in contempt as he watched them retreat. With a loud sigh, he pushed himself away from his desk, “Connor, follow me,” he said to the kid, who’d gotten enthralled observing the junk that was cluttering Hank’s desk.

The boy was curious, Hank would give him that.

They entered the interrogation room after getting a small bottle of apple juice from the vending machine. Hank immediately became aware of the threatening atmosphere in the room, but Connor seemed unbothered by it. He’d much rather have done this interview at his desk, but he suspected he’d get a lot more out of Connor if the environment wasn’t as filled with stimuli from all over the place. He nodded at one of the steel chairs at the table and Connor climbed onto it quickly. For now, Hank was glad they’d left the stuffed dog and the book in the car, because Connor’s focus was solely on him at the moment. The kid set the bottle of apple juice carefully on the corner of the table, then put his hands in his lap and looked up at Hank expectantly.

Hank sat down on the only other chair in the room and faced the boy. “We’re gonna have a very serious talk, kid.”

Connor copied his expression, “Yes, Lieutenant Hank Anderson.”

Hank gave him a faint smile and took a breath, “How old are you?”

“Six years and nine days.”

“And you can read?” Hank asked.

“Yes.”

“Did your Mom teach you?”

“Yes,” Connor nodded, “She told me the letters. Then I read the books.”

“All the books.”

“No.”

“That was a joke, kiddo,” Hank smiled, but Connor’s expression did not change. He didn’t seem like a very jokey kid. “Do you remember what I told you yesterday?”

“You told me lots of things yesterday,” Connor replied. “Most things were about Saint Bernard Sumo.”

“Right,” Hank muttered, “Unfortunately we’re not going to talk about Sumo right now.”

“Oh,” Connor looked down, probably disappointed.

“Do you remember what happened to your Mom?” Hank asked softly, gauging the boy’s expression.

Connor shrugged, his gaze focused on the bottle of juice on the corner of the table, “You are a liar, Lieutenant Hank Anderson.”

Hank raised his brow, “How so?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Connor shook his head and Hank could see that he was already getting agitated.

“Connor, I haven’t lied to you,” he said gently, wishing he could take the kid’s hand without him shrinking back. “I promise.”

The boy’s face screwed up and it was the first time Hank saw actual tears in his eyes, “Mom’s not sleeping?”

“No,” Hank shook his head, hating himself for having to say this kind of stuff to a six year old kid, “I’m so sorry, buddy.”

A few tears slipped from the boy’s eyes, but he didn’t react in the way he had last night. He just kept staring at his juice, seemingly frozen in space and time. “They had knives,” he said hollowly.

Hank closed his eyes. He was fully aware that this was his job, to get information like this, but right now he wished he’d gone to cooking school instead, like his old man had suggested back in the day. “Did you count how many there were?”

“Yes.”

“How many, Connor?”

“Four,” Connor said to his apple juice bottle still sitting on the corner of the table.

“Four people?” Hank asked, “What did they look like?”

“They had black suits and shiny shoes,” Connor replied flatly. He sat so still Hank wondered if he was even breathing.

“Did you ever see them before?”

“Yes.”

“What do they do when they come over?”

“They ask Mom for money,” Connor whispered, flinching with an unspoken memory. “And I have to do what they say.”

“Did they hurt you before?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, Lieutenant Hank Anderson,” Connor face twitched and he jerked his head, burning holes through the juice bottle with his stare.

“Alright,” Hank said softly, “Take it slow, okay? You know you can call me Hank.”

“I call you Lieutenant Hank Anderson,” Connor stated.

“Alright then. Did you ever get hurt when those men came to the motel room?”

“Yes, yesterday,” Connor replied rubbing his fingers over the smooth metal table.

“I know, Connor,” Hank nodded, “And before that?”

“I’m not supposed to say.”

Hank bit his bottom lip and breathed out slowly. That already said enough. As did Connor’s behavior. But Hank needed it loud and clear for the record to be able to use any of this. “It’s okay, buddy,” he said, “You can tell me everything. Did they hurt you when they came over?”

Connor mouth twitched and his gaze went from the juice bottle to the shiny surface of the table right under him, “Five times.”

Of course the kid had counted them. Hank felt his stomach sink in disgust. “I’m sorry, kiddo.”

“Only when Mom did not have any money.”

“Nobody is allowed to hurt you, do you understand?”

“I don’t know, Lieutenant Hank Anderson.”

“Is that what happened yesterday?”

“No.”

“What happened yesterday, Connor?”

And Connor told him. In full sentences, like he was reading a story from a book, instead of recounting his own memories. How the men had forced their way into their motel room. How his mother had tried to fight them off, throwing over the chairs and the table with the plates of spaghetti. How Connor had started to scream when they started hurting his Mom. How one of them had smashed something solid against his head to make him shut up. How Connor had crawled into the corner when he’d woken up. How he watched his mother get stabbed repeatedly on the bed as the men crawled on and off her. How they’d eventually left with bloodied knives and the promise to come back later if Connor didn’t stay put. How his Mom had looked like she was sleeping, despite all the blood and how Connor had waited until Miller and Reed showed up.

By the end of the story, Connor’s face seemed even more hollow and gaunt looking. It was an expression that had no business on a six-year-old’s face. Hank felt like he’d personally beaten the kid weary after the interview. “It’s okay,” Hank said, feeling like he had no authority to make such a promise, “You wanna drink your juice and say nothing for a while?”

Connor nodded immediately, grabbing the bottle and sipping it absently. He had an expression that clearly read that he’d closed down for the time being. Hank leaned back in his own chair, purposefully not looking at the kid. He’d gotten more information than he’d initially expected. There was still the whole ice cream thing from yesterday; that seemed significant, because Connor didn’t seem like the kid that just said random things out of nowhere. Well, aside from the dog stuff. But it would have to wait.

“Wanna tell me about the Great Dane?” Hank asked with a smile.

A little bit of life returned to the boy’s eyes and he nodded before telling Hank about the breed’s life expectancy, height, energy level and other stuff. Hank showed him a bemused smile all the while. It was like having a dog encyclopedia sitting in front of him. This kid basically taught himself to read. He was clearly highly intelligent and deserved so much better than what life had thrown him until now.

It was what he was contemplating as he walked out of the interview room together with Connor. He walked towards his desk before he remembered there were people waiting for him in the break room. Connor followed him like a puppy.

Kara was leaning on one of the standing tables with a cup of coffee and a forlorn expression. Tyler and Shannon were nowhere in sight. When she saw Hank, she straightened up and pressed her mouth into a thin line. Hank had a feeling he already knew what she was going to say.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” Kara sighed, “After some consideration, Mr and Mrs Oaks decided not to go through with the program, due to circumstances.”

Hank suspected ‘circumstances’ had something to do with Connor’s spectrum, but he didn’t say so out loud. “Okay. Now what?”

“Well,” Kara bit her lip, her eyes flying over the room before settling back on Hank’s, “I really wish I didn’t have to ask you this, but would you consider fostering Connor for a while?”

Hank’s brow shot upward, “Me?”

“He really seems attached to you,” Kara brought up, “And we have so few families available at the moment.”

“But I’m not in the program.”

“I know,” Kara admitted with a sigh, “I understand if it’s a lot to ask.”

“What will happen to him if I refuse?” Hank demanded.

“I would have to take him to the shelter downtown,” Kara mumbled.

Hank looked to Connor, who was standing by the coffee machine, thoroughly minding his own business. Being misunderstood in a shelter full of rundown kids was the last thing this boy deserved. “I’ll take him,” Hank said therefore, before he could stop himself.

Kara breathed in relief, the tension falling from her shoulders, “Thank you,” she said with a shaky smile, “Is it okay if I come over later today for evaluation? I’m sure you’ll pass, but we need it for the system.”

Hank, not quite sure what he’d agreed to, replied flatly, “Sure.”

When they’d agreed on a time, Kara went over to Connor, who didn’t look at her, as per his usual fashion, but seemed to listen nevertheless. “Connor, hey,” Kara greeted him, “You will be staying with Lieutenant Anderson for a while, okay?”

“Okay.”

Well, that was easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was waiting to happen. 
> 
> *waves around dog facts* Come get them!


	8. 8. Azawakh, Border Collie and Japanese Akita Inu

Today was not a good day, that much Connor could tell. Most people were dressed in black, which made the hairs on his body stand up and made his muscles feel stiff. Lieutenant Hank Anderson and Rose were next to him and they weren’t touching him, which was good. They listened to the man in robes in the center of the large room, who was saying stuff that Connor couldn’t quite comprehend.

Connor kept staring at the large wooden box next to the man.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson had explained that Mom was in there. That was ridiculous. Why would they do that? A photo that Connor had helped pick out was on top of the box. She was smiling on it. Connor liked it when she smiled. It made him feel safe. She didn’t do it very often, but when she did, it was always for Connor.

He felt sad. He couldn’t exactly tell why.

The man in robes was going on and on and Connor was getting antsy. He wanted to check the box to see if Lieutenant Anderson was right. But he had to sit on his chair. It was important. But Connor didn’t know why and it was boring.

He closed his eyes. The Azawakh was a sight hound so lean and rangy that you could see the bones and muscles beneath their skin. It lived up to 15 years and originated from the South Sahara thousands of years ago.

Connor wished he had his new book with him. Lieutenant Hank Anderson had bought it for him yesterday and it was a lot bigger than his other book. Lieutenant Hank Anderson had said that you could never have too many books and Connor agreed. The book had 368 dog breeds in it and Connor had only gotten half way through it until now. He’d had to leave it in the car though, which Connor felt like was rather unfair. He didn’t know what they were doing here. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing here. If he could just read his book, he wouldn’t have to look at the man in robes or think about the wooden box. He could just think about dogs. But Lieutenant Hank Anderson said that it wasn’t appropriate. Connor didn’t quite know what that word meant, but Lieutenant Hank Anderson assigned great importance to it. Rose had suggested that Connor could take Doggo with him instead and so the stuffed dog was wedged between his knees and Connor tugged at its unraveling ear absently.

The man in robes said something seemingly important, because three men stood up and walked towards the box. They slowly lifted half the lid off and placed it on the ground. Connor’s eyes widened and he was about to slip off his chair to investigate before Lieutenant Hank Anderson stopped him. “Hold on a second there, bud,” he mumbled, “You sure about this?”

What a stupid question. “Yes,” he said impatiently.

“This might be his only chance, Hank,” Rose said softly.

Lieutenant Hank Anderson sighed, “I just rather he didn’t get any more traumatized than he already is.”

“I’m not traumatized,” Connor assured him as he hopped off his chair and started his way towards the box, leaving Rose and Lieutenant Hank Anderson to trail after him.

He was disappointed to find out the box was too high and he couldn’t look inside it. Rose came up behind him, raising her eyebrows in question. Connor nodded and then she lifted him off the ground.

Mom looked like she was sleeping. Her eyes were closed and her hands were folded over her tummy. She had one of the dresses on that she’d worn a lot during summer. It was a pale yellow with a flower pattern on it. There was no blood. Her long hair was braided and came to rest over her left shoulder. She didn’t look angry or sad anymore.

She also still wasn’t breathing.

Connor’s throat was getting tighter and tighter and his eyes felt wet. He wanted to yell at Mom that it wasn’t funny anymore. That she should wake up and get out of the box. That he needed her to give him apple juice without a straw and teach him the letters and the words that he didn’t understand yet. That she had to make him brush his teeth and go to bed when it was dark. That he hadn’t told her everything about every dog breed yet. That he would be nice and cooperative and do everything she asked from here on out. He would even go to school if he had to.

Just. Get. Out. Of. The. Box.

But she couldn’t. And Connor knew that she couldn’t. Because death made you not hear things. And not see things. And not feel things. It made your thoughts stop and there was no way to turn them back on.

Rose’s arms wrapped around him and for once, he didn’t mind. He buried his face against her chest and felt his shoulders jerk with every hiccupping breath that left his throat. Rose stroked his hair and rocked the both of them back and forth, which Connor appreciated.

“Come on,” Lieutenant Hank Anderson said quietly from somewhere beside them. He and Rose stepped back and Connor gasped. He didn’t want to look at the box anymore, but he didn’t want to lose Mom out of his sight either. The three men from before picked up the lid of the box again.

“No!” Connor cried out, stretching out an arm towards the men.

They didn’t listen at all and put the lid back on the box. Frustrated, Connor squirmed in Rose’s arms. Tears were flowing out of his eyes, making little wet patches on his white dress shirt and grey blazer. He cried, even though he knew he wasn’t allowed to-

_If he cried, they would hit him harder and harder and Mom would be more and more upset._

-he couldn’t help it. He didn’t do it on purpose. Rose carried him out of the big room and into the hall they’d arrived in. She set him down underneath the coat rack and crouched in front of him. She said nothing for some time. Connor stared at the hanging coats, gasping and shuddering and desperately trying to stop doing that. Rose just looked at him and waited until he did exactly that.

“S-s-s-sorry,” Connor stammered, looking at her with pleading eyes.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, sweetie,” Rose said. Her eyes were soft. “You weren’t prepared to see her like that, were you?”

Connor shook his head stiffly, feeling the coats behind him move over his head, “She- s-she’s not-”

“It’s alright,” Rose nodded, “Just take a few deep breaths, okay?”

Connor did his best. He gasped down large gulps of air and let them out slowly, because Rose said so. After a minute or two, he felt a little better. “I’m okay.”

Rose sighed and came to sit next to him, “You wanna tell me about a dog breed?”

Connor stared at a rather large brown coat hanging in front of him, “What breed?”

“Hmm,” Rose tapped a finger against her chin like she was deep in thought, “We have a very nice, very old Border Collie at the farm,” she said, “Her name is Dora the Explorer.”

“Border Collies are highly intelligent and need lots of stimulation to keep from getting bored. They like to run and herd and are very good agility dogs. They live to be around 15 years of age.”

“Ah, our Dora is already sixteen,” Rose said with a smile, “She’s blind and slow, but she still loves to get some cuddles when the work day is done.”

“Is she a good dog?”

“Oh very,” Rose nodded, “She used to help out with the sheep, but now she sleeps most of the day. She deserves a nice retirement, so it’s okay,” she said, tilting her head and looking at Connor, “Do you have a favorite dog breed, Connor?”

“Yes,” Connor said.

“What’s your favorite dog breed, Connor?”

“The Japanese Akita Inu,” Connor replied, sitting up a little straighter, “They are from Japan and they look a little bit like bears. They are tough and smart and they can live up to 12 years.”

“That sounds like a very nice dog,” Rose agreed with a nod.

“Yes.”

Rose got up and moved in front of Connor again. She looked at him for a second before talking, “Do you know what’s going to happen next?”

Lieutenant Hank Anderson had told him, but Connor had a hard time remembering right now after everything, so he shrugged. Rose gave him a tight smile. “They will carry your Mom out of the church and into the church yard.”

“Okay.”

“Then she will be lowered into the ground and we get to put some flowers on her casket. And then they will put sand on her and she will stay there.”

“In her box?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Connor,” Rose said his name gently, “it’s only her body that is still in there. She doesn’t feel or think anything anymore. We put her under the ground so she can have some rest.”

Connor didn’t really feel like that made sense, but at least he knew what was going to happen now. If putting her in a box and then in the ground was what was supposed to happen, then so be it. He’d tried to imagine what it was like being dead ever since Lieutenant Hank Anderson had said Mom wouldn’t wake up anymore, but it was too difficult.

After a few seconds, Rose gave him another smile, “You ready to go back?”

Connor nodded slowly and they stood up and walked back into the large room. The man in robes talked for a bit more and then suddenly they were walking outside, behind the box that was carried by the three men. Connor didn’t know anybody beside himself, Rose and Lieutenant Hank Anderson. And Mom, of course.

The hole in the ground had the shape of the box and they lowered it slowly into the earth. Rose was right. There were flowers. Red and white roses and Connor was allowed to throw one into the hole on top of the box. The man in robes said a few other things, but Connor had become distracted by a lone figure who was leaning against a sleek looking black car with dark windows, watching them.

Elijah usually didn’t come to get Connor and eat ice cream himself, but, since everything else had been changed in Connor’s life, maybe this had too? He chewed his lip, wondering if he should stay here next to Lieutenant Hank Anderson, or go over to Elijah. Elijah didn’t like to wait. And he didn’t like when Connor disobeyed.

As if his body had its own thoughts, his legs carried him over to the car. Lieutenant Hank Anderson called after him, but Connor had to do this. He’d be back in a few hours. It only took so long before ice cream melted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh


	9. 9. Confrontation

Elijah Kamski was well aware of the fact that he wasn’t exactly welcome here. It was his fault Julie Newman was dead, after all. To say he found it regrettable would probably not help things along much further. Don’t be wrong, he didn’t regret it, he just wished it didn’t have to happen.

Connor Newman was looking straight at him, and Elijah smiled. It was not often that something slipped from the boy’s attention, and today was not an exemption. He knew how the kid’s mind worked. He was just like him after all. If only Connor knew what he could accomplish if he set that incredible mind to work on something other than silly dog facts.

Elijah was getting ahead of himself. The boy was only six. Amanda had told him time and time again to have patience, but Elijah couldn’t help it. He saw great potential. If only he were able to see the boy more often.

Julie had fought tooth and nail. She was afraid of him, that much Elijah could tell. They had been lovers once. Connor didn’t just pop into existence out of nowhere. She had been ultimately appalled to learn she was pregnant. By then their love had cooled to an absolute freezing point. She’d wanted to get rid of it and it was only because of Elijah’s threats to make her life a living hell that she had… reconsidered.

He sometimes wondered what had gone wrong between the two of them. Or what had Julie seen in him in the first place? What could she possibly see in a weirdo like him? Maybe it came down to fear eventually. Maybe she’d never really liked him. Nobody did. That was fine by him. He would take what he could get.

The boy didn’t really like him either. The feeling was somewhat mutual. Elijah had never seen himself as a father. He’d seen the kid with Julie. She was a good mother, or, she tried to be. Elijah didn’t even try. Why should he? He only saw the kid once a month or so. And even then, he was more interested in Connor’s abilities than the actual fact that this was his son. Subconsciously perhaps, Connor seemed to be aware of that too. The boy usually ate his ice cream in silence and seemed extraordinarily relieved when someone picked him up to bring him back home.

Ungrateful child.

Connor’s expression was stern and unwavering, like usual, as the boy decided to walk towards Elijah. Elijah appreciated his stoicism. The kid reached all the way to Elijah’s thigh as he came to stand still in front of him, “Hello Elijah.”

“Hello Connor,” Elijah answered with a smile.

He’d wondered how they were going to go about fixing things after the mess he’d admittedly left behind five days ago. To be fair, if wasn’t _his_ fault Derek couldn’t be smart about it when Elijah had told him to avoid killing the boy. Sure, it had been straight against Amanda’s orders, and Elijah would have understood if Derek had seen no other way, but dammit, this was just sloppy.

Of course, they had taken precautions. The four men that had broken into Julie’s room, including Derek, had been taken care of. They were a liability. Connor was a witness, even at six years old. It cost them four good men in order to get things back on track, Amanda had repeated to Elijah a few times that night.

Now opportunity was presenting itself in the form of Connor staring up at him in a freaking cemetery. Elijah could just take the boy. Take him, bring him back to Belle Isle and the world would never have to see him again until they were ready. Connor could develop some extraordinary talents in that time; Elijah would make sure of it.

Of course, there was a single problem standing in between. Lieutenant Hank Anderson, who came running after Connor in a hurry and put his hands protectively over _Elijah’s son’s_ shoulders like he was making a statement or whatever. A few years ago, Anderson had been the terror of every Red Ice dealer in the city. His name spread around like a ghost story. Anderson was vicious, and wouldn’t let go until he had you in prison. He was ultimately incorruptible and could find evidence even when you were sure that you left none behind. Once he and his task force were on your tail, there was no getting away. And once your superior found out he was on your tail, the only thing you could really count on was that you would be getting shot as a precaution. Even the higher ups were worried about Anderson’s ability to get information.

But he’d still been sergeant back then. Eventually he got promoted to lieutenant and got transferred to homicide. So unless people got killed, Anderson wouldn’t be called out to the scene. Elijah suspected Amanda had had something to do with that. The task force was handed over to Gavin Reed, and although Gavin didn’t exactly work for Elijah explicitly, he also didn’t work against him. Which, for now, was good enough. It gave a lot more room to maneuver, that was for sure.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Elijah smiled pleasantly, “It’s been a while.”

“Kamski,” Anderson didn’t return the smile, “What are you doing here?”

“Julie was a friend of mine,” Elijah explained, hoping he sounded somewhat sad, “A shame what happened to her.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Afraid not,” Elijah said evenly, then bent down to face Connor, “And how is it for you, Connor?”

Before the boy got a chance to answer, Anderson cleared his throat, “How do you know this kid?”

“Oh, Connor and I go way back, don’t we?”

Connor nodded reluctantly. “We eat ice cream sometimes,” he said dejectedly.

Something in the lieutenant’s jaw clenched, which wasn’t necessarily a good sign, so Elijah decided to go all the way. “Connor and I share at least half of our DNA.”

To Anderson’s credit, he didn’t outwardly reveal his surprise. “He’s your son?”

“I mean, he definitely looks more like Julie on the outside, but I like to think he has my intellect,” Elijah said.

“And now Julie is dead,” Anderson challenged.

“Highly inconvenient,” Elijah replied.

“Uh huh,” Anderson bristled. “I should take you in for questioning.”

“Some time under different circumstances, I hope,” Elijah said, “Surely you don’t want to cause a scene during a funeral.” Contempt was radiating off of the lieutenant in waves and Elijah smiled politely back at him. “I suppose I should go.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Elijah said, turning around and opening the car door, “I’ll see you around, Connor.”

Whether Anderson saw through that barely disguised threat, Elijah didn’t know, because he got in the car and told Chloe to start driving them home. When they arrived, the mansion looked as cold and uninviting as ever. Of course, Amanda was sitting at the head of the dining table already, stabbing her fork in some fancy looking fish thing. She did not look up at him.

“You went to that girl’s funeral,” she stated, rather than asked.

“I did.”

“May I ask why?”

“Sure.”

She looked up sharply, annoyance already clear on her face, “Why, Elijah?”

“To make sure, I guess,” Elijah shrugged, taking his place at the table aside from her. Chloe went into the kitchen to get his meal without a word.

“That the boy was alive?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Very much so,” Elijah challenged, but Amanda didn’t take the bait.

“Don’t be a fool,” she said calmly, “You may have fathered the boy, but he is not your son.”

“He is now that Julie is gone.”

“I take it Anderson has him now.”

“Yes,” Elijah admitted, staring at the plate Chloe placed before him. “But he has nothing against us.”

“Yet,” Amanda pointed out, “The boy is a liability.”

Whenever Amanda labeled someone as a liability, the future was not looking too bright for that person. “He’s six years old.”

“He speaks English very well though.”

Elijah sighed, suddenly not very hungry. He knew- he _knew_ that he had to let the idea of fatherhood go. He’d forsaken that chance when Julie had begged him to protect her and Connor and flee with them. He’d refused. Maybe that was where it had gone wrong. Maybe he’d signed Julie and Connor’s fate a long time ago. “He’s only six,” he muttered to his fish.

“We’ve neutralized more cases like that,” Amanda argued. To her, it was all pure logic. Elijah had often wondered if there was anything at all that could deter her. “Honestly Elijah, he’s caused more trouble than he is worth. Him and his mother.”

Elijah nodded reluctantly. He knew. Of course he knew. Maybe he’d gone soft since the boy had been born. Maybe the thought of leaving something behind after his undoubtedly untimely death came to pass, was what was making him hesitant. However the case may be, right now, the child would have to be a target.

“Have you heard anything from Gavin Reed since Newman’s death?” Amanda wanted to know, slipping a small bite of fish into her mouth.

“No, it’s too soon,” Elijah answered, “we’ll have to wait until the heat of the investigation settles down.”

“It will soon enough, I presume, since your men have left nothing valuable around for the police to find,” Amanda demanded strictly, “What good use is it though, to have a relative at the police force and not use him to your full advantage?”

Elijah wanted to roll his eyes. It wasn’t like he and Gavin saw eye to eye about anything. Gavin hadn’t entered the force for nothing. He wanted nothing to do with the corruption that ran through a large portion of his family. Still, even his cousin couldn’t run from it, and he gave them the information they needed every now and then in exchange for staying in their good favor. Ungrateful bastard child, Elijah thought. His family paid for his education, after all. “Even if I got Gavin to cooperate,” Elijah mumbled, “There’s still the problem of Anderson.”

“Very true, I suppose,” Amanda mused, chewing slowly as she thought, “But Anderson is getting older. And he also has a son.”


	10. 10. The Boy and his Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo, sorry for taking a week for this chapter, had some school stuff to do :)

Agitated, Hank Anderson thrummed his fingers on the wooden table surface. The sheets of the case file were spread all over the kitchen table, but he couldn’t get anything done to progress this case. Frustration was simmering just below the surface. Cole had noticed apparently, because the boy made sure to keep to himself and play with Dora, Sumo and a friend from school in the field behind the farm.

Connor… not so much.

The kid was happily citing every single dog breed that came up in his new book, going over their origins and purposes whether Hank liked to hear it or not. The book was ridiculously large and heavy; a bother for Connor to carry around all the time, but the boy seemed absolutely in love with it. He hadn’t put it down in days and Hank was sure the kid had read it in its entirety by now.

“Connor, will you go read your book in the living room, please?” Hank asked, his gaze stern and a finger pointing towards the farm’s living area.

“No.”

Hank took a deep breath to steady his already frayed nerves and felt the headache that he’d tried to tame with aspirin earlier, come up again, “Connor. Go to the living room.”

“I cannot read in the living room.”

“Why not?”

“It is noisy in the living room.”

Hank sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He was exhausted. “Well, you are making it noisy here, so I cannot work, do you understand?”

Connor’s eyes narrowed and he seemed to think hard about it. During the last week, Hank had tried to read up on autism as much as possible, with everything else going on. He knew it was incredibly hard for Connor to put himself in the perspective of someone else. Especially since he was six years old. But god damn, all Hank was asking for was a quiet space to work. Cole usually _wasn’t_ this difficult.

“Connor?”

Connor thoroughly ignored him, muttering to himself about some Kuvasz dog.

“Then just go upstairs to the guest room, you can read out loud there, okay?”

Didn’t seem to matter what Hank said at this point. Connor’s mutterings continued. Was he just willfully being stubborn? He didn’t just go _deaf,_ did he?

“Why are you making this difficult?” Hank asked, incredulous.

Connor’s voice rose in volume, pointing out the height and weight of the Kuvasz to himself, to Hank, to the world.

“I swear to God, I’m gonna take that book and throw it out if you don’t go upstairs, _now!_ ”

Connor suddenly stopped and looked up. Anger was flaring in his young brown eyes and with a scream he lifted the book up and threw it on the ground violently. The paperback cover ripped notably when it hit the ground and some of the pages became wrinkled. For a second, all was silent as they both stared at the book on the floor.

“Connor,” Hank growled in an unsuccessful attempt at containing his anger, ‘Pick that up, and go upstairs.”

Connor only had eyes for the damaged book lying under his feet and it seemed like it took a few more seconds before he fully realized what happened. A loud groan came out of him and he started scratching harshly at the healing gash on his brow. His face screwed up in pain, but he didn’t stop. The groan became louder and louder; a constant drone that seemed to echo through the entire house. Hank stood frozen for a moment, unable to figure out what to do, until he saw Connor’s fingers turning red from where the boy was scratching his head open.

“Hey, hey, stop that!” Hank hissed, taking a quick step forward.

Connor recoiled violently with a pained scream, throwing up his arms as if to shield himself from damage, and nearly falling off his chair. At once, Hank realized how this must look. A grown up, rather tall man, towering over a six year old with a history of abuse.

That was absolutely unacceptable.

Hank cursed himself and knelt on the kitchen floor, looking up at the kid instead of down at him. Connor stared back at him, for once not looking away at all. His head was bleeding slightly, but it seemed not as bad as Hank had feared. The kid was shaking all over though, fear as evident on his face as in his shaking hands that clutched at his hair. He continued to groan, but it had attained a panicked, almost hysterical tone to it.

“Connor, I want you to listen to me,” Hank said, as gently as he could muster. Connor looked at him like Hank could snap at any second. “I will never harm you, do you understand?”

The boy looked away and then, worst of all, nodded obediently.

Hank closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. Had he not sworn the day that Cole had been born that he would never do anything to hurt a child? Even when Steph had just up and left all those years ago, he’d been able to keep it together. He’d seen the look that Connor had on his face right now, on other kids thousands of times before and it always made him boil with rage. Because how could anyone ever put a kid through that?

And here he was. And here they were.

“I am so sorry to make you feel that way,” Hank said softly, his voice cracking with shame.

Connor looked up at him for a fraction of a second, then shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’m okay,” he said evenly. The fear slowly melted away from his face and after a few seconds, it was like nothing had ever happened.

Hank wondered if something had permanently broken between them in that very moment.

“Alright,” he muttered absently, getting to his feet, “Let’s take a look at that book of yours.”

“I’m sorry about the book,” Connor said, his head low.

“It’s okay,” Hank said, “It’s your book. If you want to break it, that’s up to you.”

“I do not.”

“I thought so,” Hank nodded, “We can fix it though, it’s okay.”

“With band-aids,” Connor stated.

“Something like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connor, don't break your book :O
> 
> Hank, don't be a gorilla about it >:(


End file.
